Between Black and White
by spiritore
Summary: The young ruler of a people nearing war, Trowa never expected to meet someone like Quatre, but Quatre was much more than what he seemed--a dangerous being that was supposed to be only myth. 3x4/4x3, others.
1. Prologue

Title: Between Black and White - Prologue  
**Genre:** fantasy  
**Warnings:** dark  
**Pairings:** 3x4/4x3 eventually  
**Comments:** Just posting up old stuff. I'm still fond of this beginning, even with it yet a bit rough despite editing.  
  
_The people of the world of Yerv have long believed in the Balance. The belief that everything has to have an equal amount of the opposite. Truth equals lies, hate equals love, peace equals war, dark equals light, and evil equals good. It is impossible to look back on a time when the Balance was not worshipped. Throughout the years, throughout time, the Balance has always been a part of a culture's or country's worship.  
  
Some places may rid themselves of the Balance, but always another place took up the belief. The concept of the Balance has never left Yerv, though it has nearly become overwhelmed by other beliefs, other religions at times, it always comes back. People have a hold of it in their minds and hearts. They have the 'knowledge' that life would not be as it is without the Balance.  
  
And through the people's belief of the Balance comes the rumor of the Balancer.  
  
There can only be one Balancer at a time. They are born and through various ways keep the Balance from becoming offset. It is their destiny, their fate, to do so. They can see the patterns of things, of what will happen, how it will happen, and why it will happen. They have the power to see and change what is to come. Because they are the Balancer. Because the Balance demands it so. Because it is the people's belief.  
  
For six hundred years after they are born they are nearly invincible, immortal. However once those six hundred years are over, they die and another of them is born. The world is never without a Balancer, not for a moment, but it is never with two. Never.  
  
When a Balancer is born two people appear to carry them away. Mortals, one who wears a cloak of white, and one who wears a cloak of black. They train the Balancer in how to keep the Balance, to make the right decisions. No one is sure of where they come from, only that they do come, and that they are never the same. Of course this is only a rumor.  
  
A legend.  
  
A myth.  
  
All of this is considered so.  
  
But if it was true, then a Balancer would have the power to change a peasant into the ruler of a kingdom.  
  
Or make a king into a peasant.  
  
To free a people.  
  
To destroy them.  
  
Create a kingdom.  
  
Destroy a civilization.  
  
Who would wish to hold such power? Many people, perhaps. Or maybe not. It would be a rendering of soul, a tearing of the heart, for someone to hold such power. To decide if a man should die to save a kingdom or if he should live and the kingdom demolished. To decide which way the Balance most go so it can be preserved. It is too big of a burden for someone to carry, even if they are a Balancer.  
  
Their existence is just a rumor to the people . . .  
  
Unfortunately, it is a true rumor._  
  
*****  
  
The little house sat next to a grove of trees, a small field of wheat growing in front of it, the soft golden stalks waving in the slight breeze whisking through the area. A plot of land near the house was dedicated to a garden--two gardens, one filled with green plants reaching towards the sky, and the other, smaller, was filled with the bright colors of flowers in bloom. To the side a simple barn stood with just enough room for the two draft horses, cow, and the wagon it usually provided protection for.  
  
The house and its inhabitants were usually cheerful. Only married for a little over a year the man and woman were happy together. He, the sturdy--dark farm boy--who had fallen for her--the delicate, pale town girl--who in turn loved him. After they had married it was common to see her making some joke at him while they worked on their land, and after a few seconds he would chase after her, catch her, wrap his arms around her and love her.  
  
That had not been the case for the past several months however. Not that the couple wasn't happy, but that something different was coming their way. She would idly work in her garden, glimpsing through her eyelashes at her husband in the field, smiling and resting her hand on top of her stomach. Or else she would be found sitting in a wooden chair next to the house, humming, knitting small garments for a child. Her husband often coming by and placing a kiss on her lips. All of this was evident of the small life growing within her, the presence that continued to grow until she moaned when she moved and had to maneuver through doors.  
  
All was different now, though. The woman lay on a simple bed, sweating and crying out as pains ripped through her small body. Delicate hands clutched at the plain sheets, she prayed that her husband would make it home soon. He had gone into town early in the morning, kissing her cheek, telling her that he would be back before the sun set, and that she had better not have the baby while he was away. They had laughed and she had kissed him back, promising. Now as the sun set, its golden light turning orange and red, flooding the small house with its light, the promise was broken.  
  
And her husband wasn't back yet. She closed her crystal blue eyes, grinding her teeth as another contraction wracked her delicate frame. She would make it through this and greet her husband with the child. She could make it through this. Oh, but how she still wished he was by her side.  
  
She opened her eyes in shock as she felt someone lift her shoulders, sliding a pillow beneath her upper back and resting her head and neck on their arm. Was it her husband?  
  
No. It was a middle-aged woman dressed in a simple white dress, a jewel divided into equal halves of black and white holding a white cloak over her shoulders. Golden-brown eyes smiled down at her, soft strands of dark-gold hair surrounding the woman's face as she braced the birthing woman against herself. The other woman tensed herself, prepared to struggle when the woman dressed in white spoke to her. "We are not here to hurt you. Calm yourself."  
  
We? The woman looked around the room, her bleary eyes widening at the dark figure at the end of her bed. Another woman, quite a bit younger than the other, this time with black hair that shone red in the dying light, stony green eyes, and a long jagged scar that started at the top of her left cheekbone and across her lips--twisting them into a grim parody of a smile--where it ended at her chin.. She was dressed similarly to the other woman--down to that black and white jewel--her dress and cloak, however, was as black as coal.  
  
They were contrasts of each other. Dark and light. Compassion and indifference. White and black.  
  
The dark woman shook back her hair and glared at the light woman, disgust plain across her features. "Oh, it is as Olizari says. We are not here to bring physical hurt upon you, only the painful knowledge that as you die we shall steal your child away. And he shall become the legendary Balancer."  
  
"Kerla!"  
  
"W-what?" She tried to sit up and only found herself restrained by the light woman. Balancer? That jewel on their cloaks, she had seen its design before. The symbol of the Balance. One hung above the doorway of their house, her husband had made it out of wood, panting each half its respective color and dividing them by a gray line. It didn't seem too long ago that he had taken it to a nearby shrine to have it blessed. It was supposed to bring them luck.  
  
"Do not listen to Kerla. She is harsh to everyone." The light woman smiled kindly, brushing a piece of platinum blond hair away from the other woman's face. Regret flashed through her eyes. "What she says is true, but it is the way things must be."  
  
The woman in birth blinked, tears rising up in her eyes, and she found herself looking out a window, towards the setting sun. She did not know these other women--she had never met anyone like them--and she feared them. There rang an undeniable tone of truth to the light woman's words. It was illogical, but it struck something within her. She had heard the rumors before, the ones that people gossiped about in small parties. She had never believed them, never before, but now . . .  
  
A tear rolled down her cheek, leaving a small trail across her sweaty face and she sank into the sun. The murmur of the light woman's voice, the cruel tone of the dark woman's, and the pain of her child's birth faded away as she was swallowed by the setting sun's light. And she remembered.  
  
She remembered the first time her husband had come to her, a dark blush on his face, and in his hands a bouquet of wildflowers. They had smelled so lovely and he had been so handsome.  
  
She remembered the kiss on the lips as he slid a simple ring upon her finger, whispering into her ear, asking if she would marry him. So kind.  
  
She remembered a white dress and his arms wrapped around her as they danced at their wedding. So beautiful.  
  
She remembered his warm hands on her belly, laying his head on it, feeling the child within kick. So sweet.  
  
The sun sank beneath the horizon, sliver by sliver, the sky fading into blackness, and her life slowly fading away into nothing. A baby's cry awoke her from her daze and with eyes that were already turning dull, she looked at her newborn child.  
  
The dark woman had wrapped him in a dark gray blanket, peeking under it at his chest, nodding at the light woman and handed it over to her. Cradling the baby in one arm, the light woman brought it forward so his mother could look at him. Eyes that swirled blue and green stared at her and she raised a shaking hand to run her fingers down the soft skin of his forehead.  
  
"He's going to look just like you -" The light woman faltered, unsure of what to call the new mother.  
  
"Q-quatrine . . ."  
  
"He's going to look just like you, Quatrine."  
  
The dying woman smiled sadly, "What . . . will my . . . husband . . ?"  
  
Kerla, the dark woman, frowned. "Your husband shall come home after being delayed by a fallen tree in the road to find you dead and the child gone." Something flickered across those cold eyes, pity or was it understanding? "He shall search for the boy that shall never be his and years will pass before he settles down to marry again. To start over."  
  
Her hand falling atop her breast, the woman's strength completely gone, she closed her eyes. "Love . . ."  
  
And the baby boy cried.   
  
Perhaps for his mother's loss or he knew what lay ahead in his too long life.  
  
It was a long time before he stopped. 


	2. Part One

Title: Between Black and White - Part One/???  
**Genre:** fantasy  
**Warnings:** dark  
**Pairings:** 3x4/4x3 eventually  
**Comments:** I edited this about four months ago and really tried to smooth out several of the rough spots in it. It's still not that great in certain places, but a most of the choppy dialogue and stuttering exposition has been rewritten.  
  
_Throughout the Balancer's six-hundred-year life-span, there is only one time when they choose to surround themselves with mortals. Mortals who know what they are. The Balancer picks these mortals carefully, binding them to themselves with an oath of blood. An oath to be loyal. An oath that in the long history of the Balancer has never been broken.  
  
The history of the Balancer goes back to before written word. It is eons old.  
  
These mortals who the Balancer chooses become known as the Greys. The Balancer trains the Greys and when the time comes, picks one to become the White Cloak and another to become the Black Cloak.  
  
The White Cloak and Black Cloak. Two servants of the Balancer. One dark, one light. One for chaos, one for order. One for peace, one for conflict. One for life, one for death.  
  
The White Cloak and Black Cloak. Aspects for what the Balancer stands for.  
  
The White Cloak and Black Cloak. Those that--in turn--teach the next Balancer their path in life._  
  
*****  
  
Rainever Fortress was isolated among the desolate Minerat Mountains that partially separated the continent of Veirn, causing many traders to curse them because they were impassable, making merchants and travelers lose time and money to find a way around them. There were two trails that allowed people to pass through them, however. One was Saver Trail and--as a well-known trader's route--the traffic on it was heavy. The other was a small unnamed trail that few people knew of and it was on this trail that Rainever Fortress stood.  
  
It sat hidden within a small, fertile valley, tucked away on one side. It was made of sturdy gray stone, squat and looking as it if was trying to blend in to the vital greenness of the surrounding area. Its age was unknown. Some parts of it were but ruins, cragged rocks jutting up with sharp edges, vines reaching around broken pillars of stone, moss creeping its way into damp crevices and corners. Other parts were in good condition, the kitchen--where a fire lit in the fireplace lent the area a homey feel--two towers that looked misplaced as being part of the keep--perhaps they had been added on after Rainever had been built--and the library, where books from many ages and countries--some long forgotten--were placed.  
  
Rainever Fortress was the closest place to a home that Quatre had. It was where he had been raised, running upon the green grass, studying in the library with books stacked upon the floor and on shelves. He had been thirteen-years-old before he had ever left the green valley and Rainever's damp halls to see the world outside. After that, he would leave for long stretches of time, periods that distanced him from it. And when he came back, it would only be for a short time. Not long enough for him to become settled.  
  
It had been that way for a long span. That was until lately.  
  
Until lately, Rainever Fortress had been a lonely place. Stuck without any footsteps to fill its silence, its only company the birds that made their nests in its eaves and the few wild beasts that wandered the valley and the mountains.  
  
Now, while it was not a place full of life and people, it was not quite so lonely. Laughter was heard among its walls on a nearly daily basis, voices chimed in its rooms, and footsteps scuffled, glided, clicked down its halls every day. People lived within its walls. People that Quatre had brought to stay.  
  
It was morning; the sun rising above the horizon and embracing everything with its gold tinged pink light and Quatre was standing atop one of the towers. The Fortress was quiet now, though most of its occupants were already awake for one reason or another.  
  
He enjoyed the quiet. It was in the silence that he could almost forget the world. Except he never could forget. Even standing alone, pretending the world did not exist, he knew it did. He could feel its rhythm pulsing away in the back of his mind. Feel everything, destruction, creation, all of it coming together to form the good, the bad, the tragedies, the miracles. He could feel the strands that made the tapestry of the world and he knew which ones could destroy or create.  
  
He turned as he heard soft feet climb stone steps and raised an eyebrow. A girl of near nineteen years looked out at him from under the halfway opened wooden hatch leading out to the top of the tower. "Ha! I knew I would find you up here," she grinned, pushing back raven hair out of her eyes, which were such a dark blue that they were only a shade or two away from being black.  
  
"And what are you doing up so early in the morning, Hilde?" he questioned. Hilde was a source of constant energy. She had a fire within her that burned constantly and that never seemed to die. She was stubborn on changing what she believed; she would have to be shown something to make her change them. Something dramatic. She was, also, stubborn about getting up in the morning.  
  
She pursed thin lips together, "Une woke me up. Said I was snoring." She sniffed in disdain, like she wasn't about to believe that she had been caught snoring. "Then she went out to help Treize with his plants."  
  
He hid a smile that was gently creeping up his face. "You do snore, Hilde. You have ever since I've known you." He had first met Hilde sometime back. She was from one of the far northern countries, living in a village too small to name. It was there that she had been a thief. A good one, just not very successful. The people of the village were not wealthy to begin with, so had she mainly made her money on the odd traveler or two that passed through. Her hand had been in his pouch, scrounging for money, was how they had first became acquainted. Clothed in dirty clothes, she had frozen in fear when his hand had grasped her wrist. He had not punished her, though she had obviously been expecting it, but instead--after a moment's consideration--offered to bring her back to Rainever Fortress with him. She had not said no.  
  
She glowered at him, then shook her head chuckling. "I guess I do, but don't tell anyone I admitted to that." She leaned forward, hands on hips. "So who else is insane enough to be up this early in the morning?"  
  
"Besides Treize, Une, and myself?" A quick nod from her. He concentrated for a moment, searching. He found the quick beating of a heart, combined with the crumbling stones tinged pink as a young man fought himself. "Heero's in the old ruins, practicing."   
  
He heard Hilde snort and knew she was rolling her eyes. The smell of flowers drew him to a self-assured man conversing with the dedicated woman next to him as they poured water upon thirsty soil. He muttered to himself, "Treize and Une are in the rose garden . . ."   
  
There was Hilde, too. The gentle force of her energy almost overwhelmed him, standing as close to him as she did while he searched. He knew that they weren't the only ones awake.  
  
In the kitchen, he found a confident woman, hands kneading dough and laughing at some comment the cheerful young woman beside her had made. "Relena and Sally are in the kitchen, baking. Everyone else is still asleep." Everyone else meaning Noin, head most likely covered by her pillow to block out the intruding light by this time, and Dorothy, edging towards the realm of the conscious.  
  
Hilde's eyebrows rose, her dark eyes glimmering. "Baking bread, I hope?" A slight inclination of his head gave affirmation. "Yum! Let's go grab some before anyone else does!" She started to skip down the stairs, cackling, "Then I can plot my revenge upon the crazy fools who dare to be up this early!."  
  
He followed at a casual pace, calling out after her, "Does that make me crazy, too?"  
  
She whirled around on her heel, staring back at him with wide eyes. "Of course not." Her voice was rich with mocking awe and reverence, "You're the invincible!"  
  
The corners of her mouth raised in a large smile, an expression of utter belief and confidence overtaking her face. "You are the Balancer."  
  
Then she turned away, blushing, and started to make her way down the stairs again.  
  
Quatre nodded to himself as he watched one of his Greys skip down the steps.  
  
He was the Balancer.  
  
*****  
  
_He sat in the verdant grass, pulling up a leaf, putting it up against his mouth and trying to produce a whistle with it. All he got was a squeak.  
  
Laughter came from the woman at his side, her figure glowing softly in the shine of the afternoon sun. Her hands gently wrapped around his much smaller ones, tenderly plucking the leaf of grass from his hand. "I swear I never should have shown you that." She grinned lightly, ruffling his pale-golden hair, "C'mon, let's get back to studying. I'll show you how to do it later."  
  
With a despondent nod, he turned back to the worn book in front of him, the words written in a nearly ineligible hand.. It was so boring. Why should he care about what other Balancers had done? They were dead and he was not. His gaze drifted away from the book, catching sight of a blue and purple butterfly fluttering around a cluster of wild flowers. So pretty . . .  
  
"Quatre." The woman's forefinger and thumb gripped his chin, turning his head to face her soft golden-brown eyes. "I know this is boring, but you have to read it to learn how to become a good Balancer."  
  
"I don't wanna learn about Balancer Grindshol or Balancer Lisha." He crawled into her lap, his small body making a perfect fit, wrapped a hand around her dark-golden strands, and buried his head in the customary white robes she wore, enjoying the smell of pine emanating from her. "Can't you read to me, 'Zari?"  
  
She pulled him away from her, shaking her head. "I could, but I won't because then you would fall asleep." She laughed when he wrinkled up his nose, placing hers so their noses touched tip to tip. "And stop pouting, munchkin, you know-"  
  
"Olizari, what have I told you about coddling him?" A harsh voice made them pull apart and look towards the woman dressed in black who had appeared behind them. She was an imposing figure, not tall, but her very stance was challenging. Thick black hair was bound in a braid behind her made her sharp features intimidating, the scar that twisted across her left cheekbone and lips making a once beautiful face into something a child would see as a monster's grim visage.  
  
Quatre scrambled from 'Zari's lap and threw back his shoulders in a desperate bid to make himself look bigger and braver than he felt. "Kerla! 'Zari wasn't coddling me, she was just-"  
  
Burning green eyes were on him, "She was coddling you and you know better." Her gaze swung to 'Zari. "As should you. Come here, Quatre. Your lessons today with Olizari are over. It's my turn." His shoulders slumped--his attempt at standing up to her gone--and moved to her, allowing long fingers to close around his delicate wrist.  
  
'Zari flowed to her feet, looking unimaginably incensed. "Stop being so cruel to him to Kerla! He's only a child."  
  
"No, he isn't a child, Olizari. And he is most definitely not your child," Kerla growled at 'Zari and Quatre shivered at the pure fury he felt in her. "That's what you keep forgetting." She pulled Quatre into her grip, he froze as she yanked up his rough cotton shirt baring his chest to the air. She pointed an accusing finger at his right side--just where his rib-cage began--and at the circle birth-shaped mark there. His breath caught in his throat. "This is what makes him different. He's not a child, Olizari. He's not even human. He's the Balancer." She dropped his shirt and picked up his six-year-old body. "You would do well to remember that."  
  
'Zari said nothing and Kerla carried him away. He looked over her shoulder, feeling her steel-hard arms wrapped around him, and gazed at the sad, white figure left alone in the green grass, feeling something harden within him.  
  
He wasn't human.  
  
He was the Balancer._  
  
*****  
  
The Citadel stared down at Trowa in the late afternoon and he vaguely wished that it had never been built and that he had never been put into this situation. The Citadel was a palace built near Lost Bay and its name had come to cover the city that had grown around it. It had been built nearly a hundred-and-fifty years ago, just after Trowa's ancestors had arrived in this land called Norech.  
  
Norech was a small part of the continent Veirn, but it was cut off from the rest of the world by the Minerat Mountains. Its only inhabitants for a long time had been the proud race of copper-skinned people, the Nors, making their living there, in a place that was mostly plains with few trees. The Nors survived by selling salt gathered from the Salt Caves within the Minerats, not much just enough for supplies that were needed. It was then that Trowa's people had come up through Lost Bay in their majestic ships, a sea-faring people known as the Aquis that were slowly dying out, their race dwindling as the years went by.  
  
It was here in Norech that they came to regroup themselves. They came to build a base of operations and see if they could make something off of the Salt Caves. Their ships would have allowed them to distribute it all over the world. They ran into problems with the Nors. The Salt Caves belonged to the Nors and it was through both peoples' unwillingness to compromise that the war between them started. For over a hundred years they fought until Nors and Aquis were nearly decimated. Through desperate measures, the leaders of each race came together and formed a truce.  
  
A truce that had lasted almost another hundred years where the Nor sold the salt to the Aquis, and the Aquis sold the salt to the rest of the world. It was only now that the plan was failing. Aquis and Nors had come together into villages and as time went by the two races intermingled and relationships formed. Relationships that produced children with the blood of both peoples. Children that no one had any idea what to do about. Should they be granted the rights of the Nors or the rights of the Aquis? Or both the rights of Aquis and Nors?  
  
And with some Aquis and Nors, these propositions rubbed them the wrong way. A few of these people had killed children who held both Aquis and Nor blood in their veins. They were ruining the life style they had become comfortable with.  
  
And for others, this was an opportunity to delve into other issues that had long since been resolved.  
  
Calls for change were being made. It was a change that had to be made for the entirety of Norech was on the verge of a war. Already skirmishes claiming lives had been fought.  
  
So nearly a hundred years after the truce, the leaders of each race were coming together once more to make a new agreement. Something that could hopefully please both sides.  
  
It was a heavy burden for Trowa, for he was the leader of the Aquis. One that he did not wish for, nor had ever wanted. One that was not even supposed to be his burden.  
  
A burden that grew with every step his horse took towards the Citadel.  
  
"Trowa, stop frowning so much. It's not the end of the world." His companion said, patting his shoulder in an effort to be supportive.  
  
He shrugged it off. He was far from being in the mood to be comforted. Tension vibrated through him, ran through his muscles and nerves, saturating itself into his body. He did not want to do this. He was not one for making decisions.  
  
He wished he could be gone. Gone like he had never existed, melted away like snow when the spring sun appeared. It would never happen.  
  
A snort alerted him that his companion had pulled up his horse, glaring at him through with long chestnut bangs with indignant violet eyes. "By the Balance, Trowa! Could you stop acting like such a cold-blooded ass?"  
  
"I have a lot of things to think about, Duo-" he started, thinking wistfully that now would be a really good time to be non-existing. Then he wouldn't have to endure the trusting eyes of the Aquis--ha! he still couldn't think of them as his people--the lords' advice on certain matters, his sister's pampering, or his best friend's mood swings.  
  
Interrupting, as he was wont to do when irritated, Duo hunched his shoulders forward. "Then stop thinking about them! You've been thinking about them forever!" He waved his arms in the air, searching --it seemed--for something to take his rage out on. His horse ignored his erratic movements and lowered its head to eat grass. Duo finally settled on his long chestnut braid, jerking it and wrapping it around his hand like he wanted to wrap it around someone's throat. Quite possibly Trowa's. "I do believe it's possible to stop doing that for a few moments at least! You're driving me nuts. You're driving Catherine nuts! And you're driving everyone else nuts, too!" He stopped his ranting, catching his breath.  
  
Trowa knew he had been unnaturally silent as of late, but he hadn't been that bad had he? Of course, maybe it was brushing off he gave to everyone during the last few weeks. That would be enough to get a rise out of Catherine and Duo. They both hated to be ignored. And he had been ignoring them, letting his emotions build up within himself until they were the tangled knot he felt in the pit of his stomach, pushing them away . . . "Damn, I have been acting like an ass."  
  
Duo rolled his eyes, his expressive face showing forgiveness. "Yeah, well, stop being one. Catherine and I have been worried mad about you. You keep going off on these Black-forsaken rides alone. You're our king, Trowa. It's dangerous for you to be out here without protection."  
  
"You're here with me." He could take care of himself and did not like anyone even suggesting that he could not. "And I'm not king."  
  
His braided friend growled deep in his throat, "You're only not king because you refused to go through the ceremony, however, you still are the ruler of the Aquis. There are people who want to kill you, you know that." There that braid went again, winding through fingers, long strands of chestnut being yanked. "And--AND the only reason I'm out with you today is because I caught you while you were sneaking away." His head fell forward limply, "I'm going to have gray hairs before I reach twenty because of you."  
  
Trowa concentrated on the reins he held in his hands. He really disliked other people showing him his faults, but he was used to it. At least from Duo and his sister. "I apologize, Duo. I'll try to be less of an . . . ass."  
  
"You had better be. Do you realize how having gray hairs could ruin my image?" Duo had always been one to make light of serious situations, something Trowa was more than inapt at. "And you need to be all together mentally since tomorrow the delegate from the Nors arrives tomorrow and in a week from now the ambassador comes." Then again, Duo did have an ability to bring reality crashing down upon person's head.  
  
"I know." He urged his horse forward, knowing Duo would follow. In the distance he could see the city's gates appear and he inwardly frowned. In a short time his horse's hooves would be ringing along stone streets and he would have to face his sister, a notion that did not settle well with him. She would be in a rage. She had right to be, he had left her alone to deal with the idiotic lords of the Aquis and while she did it well, it was a task no one could truly enjoy. He owed her. He could barely deal with them himself. "I never wanted to be the ruler, Duo. I don't think I was ever meant to be a ruler."  
  
Silence reigned behind him and he glanced back to find his friend staring up at the blue sky. "Duo?"  
  
Those violet eyes slowly found him, blinking thoughtfully. "I never wanted to an advisor to someone who held great power, Trowa. I never thought I would be and I still don't think I was meant to be." A wistful smile crawled across his face. "But here I am, because here you are and I figured you needed someone at your side. However you think it should be and however I think it should be are not what others think. You are the Aquis' ruler and I am your advisor. And, in truth, we are damn good at what we are. We'll make it through the talks in one piece, don't worry."  
  
"You're a good friend, Duo." They were almost at the gates and Trowa could see a red-headed woman standing next to them. His sister had apparently decided to meet them from their little trip. He sighed, "Time to do what I must."  
  
*****  
  
_"You can't possibly be serious! He's our son!" His mother grabbed his father's shoulder, tears tracing paths down her wrinkled and worn face.  
  
In the flickering light of the fire, a hand was raised and she fell back to the stone floor, her own hand pressed against her now red cheek and a look of horror growing on her face. His father stood tall, angry and Trowa cowered in the closet, muffling his whimpers in his sister's dress. "He isn't our son any longer! He's the king's!"  
  
Trowa's hands gripped tighter on his sister's arm. "Cathy, I'm scared."  
  
"Shh, Trow. Be quiet now." Her comforting hands ran through his hair and she was as frightened as he was, even if she didn't voice it. He had heard her gasp when their father had hit their mother. Their father was not a violent man. Far from it, he was tender and caring, but now . . .  
  
His mother's hands smoothed her richly brocaded velvet dress and her voice was broken with sobs. "Renal . . . how could you do . . . such a thing." Green eyes drilled holes into the tall man's back and he turned to face her as she eked out her next words. "Agreeing to give our son to him like - like that!"  
  
His father's face looked tired and the anger that had been in his eyes seconds before was now gone, replaced with fear, shame, and sadness. He reached out to his wife, his large hands searching for her, "I'm so sorry, Trisha. My beautiful, beautiful Trisha. I didn't-"  
  
"No!" the slim woman cried out, scrambling away from those hands that came towards her. "Don't touch me. Not until you tell me why you could give our ten-year-old son to him! Tell me why!"  
  
Then the tears fell from Renal's eyes and Trowa bit his lip, keeping back the sobs that wanted to come from him. His father never cried, but he was crying now and it was for him. Trowa knew it. "I didn't want to, Trisha. Never. He asked me and I said no. Trowa's our son. Ours. Not some replacement for the king's dead son." Gray eyes that were known to be so calm, swirled with depth and emotion, like the clouds of a storm or the raging waters of the ocean. "Then he told me that if I didn't agree he would break our family apart. All of us! He - he would take Catherine away, then you and finally take Trowa. He was going to ruin our family! I did the only thing I could do."  
  
His mother wouldn't face his father and her voice sounded so broken and lost, "Our family's still ruined. He's taking away our little boy. Why can't he just name him heir? Why does he have to take him away?" Heart-broken sobs wracked Trisha's body.  
  
Renal fell to his knees and gathered her in his arms, burying his face in her thick red hair, "Because he believes that the heir can only be someone raised by him. Because he's an egotistical pig with too much power at his beck and call." He hugged his wife closer to him. "I wish I could do something. We're losing our son to him in the - the morning. He's - he's taking him away in the morning." He cradled his wife in the light of the fire and cried with her.  
  
Trowa saw this with his sister through the partially opened door of the closet. He could feel Catherine's arms wrap around his waist and her head bury itself on his shoulder. "You're going away, I don't want you to go away," he heard her muffled voice. Her tears soaked through his shirt, her cinnamon smell wrapping around him. "Don't go away."  
  
He clutched back at her in despair, quaking in fear and he let his own tears run down his face, nestling his head atop her shoulder. "I don't want them to take me away. I don't wanna go." His father sat holding his mother in the light of the dying fire, crying for their son that was theirs no longer. He and his sister sat curled together in the dark closet, sobbing for fear of the morning.  
  
"I don't wanna go away."_


	3. Part Two

Title: Between Black and White - Part Two/???  
**Genre:** fantasy  
**Warnings:** AU, dark  
**Pairings:** 3x4/4x3 eventually  
**Comments:** This part took me two years to write. The condense version of why it took me so long is this: started it once. Got the first section done. Decided I hated it. Deleted it. Started second section. Liked second section. Had it almost finished. Then disk got corrupted and I lost it. Gave up for a year. Came back to it. Restarted it with a entirely new and different first section. Got two parts down. Wrote third part. Deleted. Re-wrote third part. Deleted. Took a several month long break. This last time I finally got it right.  
  
*****  
  
_Nature, perhaps, is the Balancer's greatest enemy. It is a wild and unpredictable thing and it is everywhere. It is vast, the sky above heads. It is enormous, the earth beneath feet. It is immense, the water before beings.  
  
Its very existence disrupts the Balance.  
  
It destroys and creates things upon a whim. The earth can roll from waves that are better suited for water. The fire of rocks can flow like a river down a mountain side. A wall of water, towering high and unstoppable, can roll onto the land. The sky can be dark with furious rain and apocalyptic winds that whirl in anger.  
  
The Balancer has some control over nature. But the some is a little and nature is great in power. It is like the Balancer, except without direction.   
  
Without thought.  
  
Without duty.  
  
It does what it does, only because it can.  
  
The Balancer and nature battle against each other. Nature is mindless in what it does. The Balancer is not.  
  
And whatever nature does, the Balancer must do something in turn to correct the Balance. It could be destroying a people or saving a kingdom.  
  
It could be anything.  
  
The Balancer will do whatever it takes to correct the Balance.  
  
Nature does everything to disrupt it._  
  
*****  
  
The morning sun beat down upon bronzed arms as they rose gracefully above his head, past the dark wild brown strands of his hair, and into the air, his long fingers reaching for its light. His body rose with his arms, slender back arching and heels rising off the worn stone block on which they had rested. He balanced precariously upon the ruined stonewall, the last vestiges of a time when Rainever Fortress must have been a place of grandeur and not a crumbled ruin.  
  
It was the faint sound of a stone rolling amongst its siblings that caught his attention. On swift second later and he was crouched upon the wall, his hand outstretched having already thrown his dagger almost before sharp blue eyes could register what he was throwing it at.  
  
The dagger shook the young tree--nearly a sapling yet--that it had struck and not an inch between itself and the young woman who stood beside it. She took a step forward, a delicate hand reaching down to pull up the hem of her plain gray dress as a brown booted foot carefully navigated the rubble filled ground. He relaxed his pose, pulling his darkly tanned hand back to rest on his knee.  
  
"Relena." He drew out the last syllable of her name, letting it linger in the air. Her appearance was hardly a surprise.  
  
Clear blue eyes silently laughed back at him, not a trace of fear after the incident with the dagger. "Good morning, Heero."  
  
"I could have hit you."  
  
"I knew you wouldn't." Her calm voice spoke volumes for the amount of trust she held in him. Heero allowed the edges of his mouth to tug downward in a faint frown. Her unwavering faith in him was disturbing. No one should trust him that much, but Relena's trust in him had always been certain.  
  
He seated himself upon the low wall--his gray trousers nearly blending in with the worn rock--even as she reached her destination, the very side of the wall upon which his legs were placed. She leaned against it, head tilted slightly up in his direction with the light bringing out the honey tones of her light brown hair, patiently waiting for him to speak.  
  
As with most things concerning her, he eventually fulfilled her expectation. "Can you be so sure?"  
  
"Yes." Her mouth curved upward in a smile, white teeth flashing between pale pink lips. It unsettled Heero--as it always did--how she managed to convey such a large amount of meaning into a simple world. "You should stop worrying about me. If I need to I can take care of myself." She winked at him.  
  
Did Relena have to remind him of that incident? "I know. I still have the bruise on my shoulder."  
  
Her eyes widened, "Honestly, I didn't meant to hit you that hard with the staff . . . wait a minute!" Slim fingers wrapped around the toe of his boot, Relena's determined movement to make sure she was looking at her. Few had ever escaped her resolve and Heero had never been one of the few. "You didn't go to Sally, did you? You wouldn't have that bruise if you had."  
  
There was only one way to answer her accusation. Words would only persuade her to speak more and lies had always enhanced her vocabulary, for some sixth sense always alerted her to such fabrications of the truth. So without resorting to words, he shrugged.  
  
"Stubborn," she said, frowning.  
  
He watched her for a brief moment, fretting with the gray wool of her sleeve, then her mouth moved once more, words falling out of it in a worried torrent. "Sally and Une got into a fight today."  
  
One of her foolish worries over something that Relena could never control; the actions of other people. "So?"  
  
Hearing the apathetic tone of his voice, her eyes flashed with irritation. "Quatre was displeased." She wrung her hands, "Their confrontation may have lessened their chances to be chosen as one of the Cloaks."  
  
"Then it has gifted us with a greater chance of being chosen." The specifics of why certain Grays were chosen to become the Black Cloak or the White Cloak had never been fully understand by human minds. Only the Balancer knew what they were truly looking for in their Cloaks. The facts they knew were few and far between. The two Cloaks differed in temperament, the most common example used was that one Cloak was passive in their thoughts and actions and the other Cloak happened to be more aggressive. One Cloak was at one end of the color spectrum and the other Cloak was at the other end.  
  
Hearing the apathetic tone in his voice, her fists clenched and he wisely looked away from the ire that rose in her blue eyes. It was best not to face her during those moments of insensible passion. She always won. "How can you say that? They're our friends."  
  
She still did not understand. Would she ever?  
  
"Relena." The soft, honey-filled voice took him unawares, but he knew who it was, even as the woman's tone hardened on his name. "Heero."  
  
"Dorothy!"  
  
"Dorothy."  
  
The young woman addressed smiled, hands clasped upon her breast. "Heero, if you could only express as much emotion as Relena I might actually consider you human."  
  
"Dorothy, be nice."  
  
Their first encounter had never been memorable, Heero noted, but he had never forgotten the glance of the girl--tall as a child with white-blond hair blowing everywhere in the wind--glacial blue eyes staring him down. He had known she was a predator in a sense that he was not. "What are you doing here, Dorothy?"  
  
A faint smile appeared on her pale face. "I was told to bring you back, immediately. The Balancer wishes to see all of his Greys."  
  
*****  
  
"What were you thinking, Duo? Allowing him to go outside alone!"  
  
"Maybe, just maybe, that he needed some breathing room before the _festivities_ begin." An irate Catherine had finally tracked him down, a fate Duo had been trying to avoid for the better part of the afternoon. It was bad luck's wicked humor that she had to find him at baths. He should have known better. When fleeing from an angry redhead never stay too long in one place was one of his rules, shortly made after meeting Trowa's older sister. The lure of hot water and soap had demanded his presence.  
  
Behind the stone divider, he heard the rustle of her skirts as her voice rang out. "If he had such a need he should have brought guards along."  
  
"What? Is that my fault? I can't make him summon the damn guards if he doesn't want to."  
  
"You could have summoned them."  
  
He sunk lower into the warm water, giving the surface a thorough once over. If he ducked under the water would she be gone by the time he came up for air? "Damn, you're jumping to place blame on me."  
  
"You deserve a good part of it, Duo. Trowa was not the only one I was worried about." She muttered something inaudibly under her breath, cursing was his best guess.  
  
"Sheesh, am I now under home arrest?"  
  
"I can't make you do anything," she said, "but both of you should know better. Especially when a delegate from the Nors is due to arrive."  
  
"Hey! He came early and-" The soft patter of footsteps made him jerk his head around to observe Catherine striding around the stone divider, her dark red hair held away from her face by a simple tie. Other than that, she had not a trace of clothing on her. "Catherine! You're naked!"  
  
She stepped into the bathing pool, smiling. "Yes, I am."  
  
In some far distant corner of his mind, he wondered how badly he was blushing. She wasn't supposed to be this female in front of him, considering she was almost his sister. Almost. "This is the men's bath," he hissed.  
  
"You're the only man in here and you've seen me naked before, just as I've seen you. Stop acting as if it's the end of the world." She raised an eyebrow at him, amused to no end no doubt. "And don't think you can leave with soap in your hair." A pale finger was shook at him, mocking.  
  
His hair rivaled most ladies of the court in length. In spite of taunts and certain nuisances--he glared down at the wet and soapy strands of chocolate-colored hair--he rarely cut it. He was allowed to have his quirks he figured and it could not be worse than keeping mummified animals stored in one's bedroom such as one noble did. "What if someone else comes in here?"  
  
"Then you'll have to protect me." Catherine had never lived by the rules for as long as he had known her. Most applied her eccentricities to being raised outside of Citadel and poor tutors. Duo held that no matter what, Catherine was only eccentric in the fact that she considered most noble principles ridiculous and deigned not to follow them. "Are you going to continue?"  
  
He almost asked 'continue what?' but he snapped his mouth shut as he placed her reference. "Ah, the delegate. He came a day early and it's Zechs Merquise."  
  
She nodded, gray eyes observing him from beneath her eyelashes. "The foreigner. What do you think of that?"  
  
What was there to think about? "Merquise . . . he's still settling into his rooms, isn't he?" He studied the ceiling, composed of tiles alternating black and white. It was better than staring at slender lines of Catherine's shoulders or the brief glimpses he caught of her breasts. Sister, he reminded himself, it's nearly incest. "Chang trusts this man if he's sent him to help set up for delegations. It may also point to the fact that Chang doesn't trust his fellow Nors . . . or Chang thinks nothing will come of this in the long run."  
  
"Both high possibilities," Catherine sighed.  
  
"All we can do is observe at this point. The action will start next week."  
  
"Just what I'm looking forward to. You should have seen your face when you rode up to see Merquise there," amusement was rising in her voice. Duo was doing his best not to look at her.  
  
He may not have seen his face, but he had gotten a good enough glimpse of Trowa's. "I can only imagine."  
  
"You and my brother-" The heavy door sounded its opening and she stopped speaking. Duo automatically looked to her, his eyes going wide. She merely winked at him and whispered, "You're good with your mouth, Duo. Use it."  
  
When angry, Catherine always found a way for justice, even if it was partially at her dignity. If she had any dignity concerning this aspect of her life. He had to admire her.  
  
*****  
  
On certain days Quatre wondered how long Rainever Keep had stood. It had been in much the same condition when he was a child. How many Balancers had lived within its walls? He knew a building should not remain in the same condition as it had centuries before. His travels across lands and cities had proven that time and time again. Things changed as timed passed, a fact of life he had learned well.  
  
Change always came with time, except change never came to Rainever or the Balancer. Balancers did die, eventually, but they never truly changed. His line had one mission and one goal in their long lives and that was their existence, so the transition between Balancers was not much a development at all.  
  
He knew of change, but it was a foreign concept to him. His job was to instigate change, but Quatre would never change.  
  
Perhaps Balancers had influenced Rainever into withstanding the forces of time, making their home here for countless ages and walls becoming part of them. It was either disturbing or comforting to know that it would greet the next Balancer. He found it hard to decide.  
  
A polite cough next to him made him raise his head from the worn book he had been gazing at -- having stopped his reading to merely stare blankly at the pages -- lost in thought. He smiled in reflex, "Treize, you're already done packing?"  
  
Treize leaned his hip on the nearby desk, penetrating blue eyes gazing at him. He was too clean, too rigid, too so many things to fit into this cluttered, dusty library. Relena had attempted to clean it several times, but the library refused to be neat and orderly and eventually she had given up, letting the small room alone since it seemed content with its rickety shelves, tables piled with musty, ancient books, and the mismatched couches and chairs placed here and there. "I have little reason to pack too many items."  
  
That was true. They were traveling to the man's home.  
  
He had stumbled upon Treize nearly two decades ago, the tall man at that point had only been a small child, covered in scraps and running from the men who had slaughtered his father. The boy was one of the Nors, his father a nobleman that spent most of his time away from Citadel. On that fateful day, Treize's father had taken the boy for a 'father-son adventure' only to have it end it tragedy as bandits attacked them without warning. Quatre had saved Treize that day and took him back to Citadel, but not before having him take the blood oath of a Grey.  
  
As Treize had grown older, he had taken up the habit of leaving Citadel and taking long and distant trips to foreign lands. In truth, he was making his way to Rainever Fortress, to learn from the Balancer as a Grey should.  
  
Treize had been his first Grey and the only one that had a life outside of Rainever.  
  
At this moment, Quatre was grateful for his Grey's life in Citadel. It made his plans easier. "Of course."  
  
"Are you concerned about bringing the other Greys with us?"  
  
"No. Merely contemplative." Treize yet studied him, face impassive. He was talented at hiding his worry. "I have the utmost confidence that everyone will behave accordingly."  
  
"Even after this morning-."  
  
"Yes, Treize," Quatre interrupted him, "the acts of this morning has surely reminded everyone to keep themselves under control." Such uncertainty was unusual from his eldest Grey -- a man, perhaps, too confident for his own good -- and it suggested that Treize was searching for an approach to another subject. The man was diplomatic and subtle enough at times that even patience might lose it. "Speak plainly, my friend. What's causing your unease?"  
  
The acknowledgment that Treize could speak to him as an equal had been the key, as Quatre had often found it to be. Too frequently, his Greys got caught up in the truth that he was Balancer and it tied their tongues when they wished to voice concerns.  
  
"The others are worried over what this means." The setting sun's light filtered in through one of the library's windows turning Treize's ginger hair into a blaze of red-gold.  
  
Quatre felt the corners of his lips turn up in a tiny smile. Those words were something he had been expecting and of course it would be Treize to state the unvoiced concerns of his fellow Greys. "And are you worried?"  
  
"I am only certain that everything comes to an end eventually."  
  
"That's the only thing you can be certain of, isn't it?" Sometime during their conversation it had started raining. Rain streaks scored themselves across the windows and Quatre heard the faint whistling of the wind against stone that gave it no crack or cranny for its path -- Rainever's stone. Storm clouds had rolled in during the late afternoon, throwing everything into shadow, and now he only hoped that they would rain themselves out before he and the Greys left for Citadel. It would be a miserable journey in the wet if they didn't and it took far too much energy for Quatre to attempt to push them away himself. "It will end, Treize, and those words will not lighten the other Greys' hearts."  
  
The taller man nodded thoughtfully -- his fingers brushing across the cover of a leather-bound book laying upon the desk -- but he did not speak again, leaving Quatre to study his face without interruption.  
  
"What do you say of ends, Treize? I'm about to start a civil war between your own people and the Nors that will destroy both races."  
  
"I say ends must come and you are only doing what your position demands."  
  
"I've saved more kingdoms and realms than eliminated." It was growing cold in the room and he thought it might be time to light wood in the fireplace before the damp followed the chill. "I am sorry. The little things have been piling up; the rains ending a drought, a storm suddenly veering north away from a city . . . everything on top of everything else. I can't leave it like this."  
  
For all his long life, Quatre had always been fairly certain and resolute in his decisions, but the past few years had tinged his thoughts with doubt, as if the older he got, the soil he stood upon was less firm. It was like laboring up a mountain and finally -- nearing the end -- finding himself on the pinnacle of it with nothing to hold onto anymore and as each day passed his balance dwindled, leaving him swaying back and forth in roaring winds. It was only a matter of time before he fell, but not yet.  
  
Treize -- as he was wont to do -- took his words without visible reaction. Where Quatre stood, tottering upon a mountain's peak, Treize had his feet planted firmly upon the ground. It was his Grey's words, not his facial expression that gave Quatre comfort. "Rainever is where I belong and the mission of the Balancer is what I believe in. That's all I need."  
  
Those simple words centered Quatre and he was no longer quite so close to falling. "As you say, then." The storm outside remained constant and with the comfortable silence following his words, he studied what had become a delicate weaving of water trails down the windows. "I think I shall go check on the stable before dinner."  
  
And Treize answered, "I will join you."  
  
*****  
  
"The open ground outside the city gates would be an ideal place to hold the conference."   
  
Lord Zechs Merquise was the antithesis to the Nors. He was tall and pale -- blue eyes and blond hair that could have been made of the snow from off the mountains -- while the majority of the Nors were shorter than average and colored dark tones -- their hair and eyes as like black ink and skin the rich tones of earth. He was exotic and so very different to the Nors, yet Trowa believed that this foreigner who had somehow been accepted as one of the Nors was the best choice to help prepare for the meeting between the two races.  
  
"We use that area for markets and fairs." Trowa said, watching the other man carefully. He had been studying him throughout dinner -- a quiet affair attended by only himself, his sister, Duo, and Merquise with his two silent Nor companions, punctuated by only the rattle of china, the clink of silverware, and the distant polite murmuring shared between the six of them -- and had come to the conclusion that Merquise was more than he seemed. Over ten years ago, the tall man had come across Saver's Pass and strangely enough the Nors had made him one of them -- evident by the blacks swirls and strikes of the tattoos the Nors were so fond of using to indicate rank and enhance their standard of beauty that Trowa kept glimpsing underneath the sleeves of Merquise's shirt -- and to the Aquis he was an enigma, seen rarely up close.  
  
A suspicion in the back of Trowa's mind was forming on the reason for Merquise's visual absence to any eye other than the Nors. The way the man ate, the way he spoke, the way he moved, it all spoke of noble breeding and training. This was a man taught the ways of court from his youth. It was an interesting tidbit and gave a better explanation as to why the foreigner was here and not some Nor. This was a man able to interact with both the Aquis and Nors and not risk offending either of them.  
  
Duo frowned, "It's too open for my comfort." Which Trowa knowingly interrupted into 'like the Black, you'll put my friends in danger'.  
  
"It wouldn't hurt to take see what we can do, Duo," Trowa said.  
  
His friend was about to open his mouth again when Catherine smoothly interrupted, putting her fork down and gently clearing her throat, looking every bit the elegant lady. A well done facade on her part. "Brother, a messenger bird from Lord Kushrenada arrived today. It appears that he shall arrive the night before the talks start . . . and he is bringing company."  
  
"Ah, company." Outsiders most likely. Citadel was already swarming with them, every greedy merchant or foreign noble who sought to wrangle a prize or two from the coming meeting.  
  
"Lord Kushrenada?" Merquise questioned and this time Trowa caught the sound of a faint rolling accent in his words.  
  
Duo slouched in his chair, far from looking the part of an advisor. "A lord from up north, Lord Merquise. Not that he's ever home to lord over things."  
  
"He's considered a bit of an eccentric, always exploring the rest of the world," Catherine explained. "Not that one would blame him."  
  
Merquise leaned forward -- no doubt interested in Catherine's last statement -- and Trowa fought a grimace. The why of Lord Treize Kushrenada's trips was not something that should be approached with Nor company and he scrambled to come up with a distracting subject before Zechs could speak. Of course! That rumor had been making its courses about Citadel.  
  
"You shouldn't make too much of him being eccentric, Catherine. An intriguing piece of information has been circulating about today, something about a servant finding you in the men's bathing room . . . with Duo." It was better to embarrass friends and family than bring up the story of Lord Kushrenada and how his father had been killed by Nor bandits considering the situation. While he errant lord might bring enough trouble with his coming, Trowa had every intention of heading it off for as long as possible. His sister was blushing furiously, but Trowa thought it was more from anger at herself than embarrassment. She knew what she had nearly revealed and -- ultimately -- she was absolutely shameless.  
  
Duo must have caught on, however, it did not stop him from shooting and irritated glare at Trowa. "I obviously didn't pay the servant enough to shut him up." No doubt Duo was already plotting his revenge upon the poor fool.  
  
Merquise shifted uncomfortably in his chair, perhaps thinking the topic was more risqué than it truly was. "Yes, well . . . things are certainly more open here than the-"  
  
"The court you came from?" Trowa suggested.  
  
Merquise froze for the slightest moment -- so brief that Trowa thought he might have imagined it -- before regaining himself. "What would be considered the Nors' court is not comparable to the Aquis'."  
  
"I imagine not."  
  
"And we're not that open, so do not concern yourself, Lord Merquise." Catherine winked, "I needed to speak to Lord Maxwell concerning a few issues and since he can be so difficult to catch, I thought it would be best to grab my chance while he was in one place."  
  
"Such is my luck," Duo raised his cup to the air. "Bad." 


End file.
